It's not my fault that you're beautiful.
So beautiful that, when I catch myself looking, I have to tear my gaze away from you no matter how difficult a chore that seems to be.
Someday, I fear, I will delay for too long. And my eyes will become so spoiled by your face that they will from that moment on refuse to see anything else. They will betray me just as my heart once betrayed me. They will go on strike, and they will demand concessions that are not mine to give.
This is why I turn away.
Because I must.
Because, for now anyway, I can.